They Are Here

- jan-u-wine
The Mountain:
it runs
Red with fire.

Red
like  that
which
falls from
my hand
to touch
its face.

It is torn,
like me,
sundered,
broken
to its very
roots.

Its anguish
tears
at itself,
at me.

This
is my
doing.

My undoing……

Its undoing.

Sluggish,
rhe river of its
blood
rises
to meet mine.

When I was small,
I always
feared
that I should
drown.

I am small again.

Sam.

Eyes
scratched by
unshed tears
look into
mine…..

A hand,
still strong
with purpose,
clasps
mine.

Here is
the last Road
we shall walk
together.

We need not
take
even a single step.


Somehow,
in the black
confusion
of clouds,
I look to the West.

Pale light
of a sudden
lives there,
and a sunburst
of joyous,
green-clad
gentle
Hills.

The Shire.

Oh.

Between
fierce,
fire-tongued air,
there comes
a drift
of sweet Spring.

I know it is
only
a dream,
but it is
enough.

I am ready now.


Sorrowful
grey ash,
like evil snow,
shrouds
that which
advances
upon our helplessness.

Ash….
and….
something else….
falling
soft
and crisply sharp
upon ruin'd rock.

Feathers.

Feathers….
great
and small,
fallen
from
swift wings.

It is
but
another dream,
is it not?

From far away,
I think
on that
other
Adventure
and the sweet
ending
of it.

Cries
touch
the throat
of the air.

Cries,
and the gnarled
softness
of a large
hand
holding me fast
even as I fall.

The chill'd
rush
of consciousness
leaving me
bleeds
into the
push
of the wind,
feathering
ever higher
through clouds
bright with Light.

Everywhere…….
everywhere,
golden,
gentle,
warm,
blinding,
blessed
Light.

Within the haven
of this happy dream,
I smile a last smile,
I summon a last
hopeful thought:

The Eagles.

They have come.

They
will take
us
Home.